The light filters down through the branches.
Decades, Centuries, Millenia of history before me.
Such wisdom, such strength!
All supporting, ever-reaching.
Growing slowly, inconsistently, but still progressing.
It is the past.
And I am just a small branch.
I look above and see the success of each generation.
I see their mark on society, their connections with people from different worlds.
Their roots strong and ingrained in our very DNA.
They deserve our respect. For we are only ever an extension of their branch.
Their traits belong to the same roots as our traits.
We suckle from nutrients given to us to grow and extend our own branches, leaves or blossom into our own flower, lost forever at the end of life.
The pressure is strong to propagate and ensure the tree is forever growing new leaves, new branches, continuing the tradition of generations.
To link and entwine our lives with others to produce more.
What if our branches break? Snap under the pressures of life and turbulent winds.
With the weight of a canopy full of history; the resilient bark that has held it sturdy for time as well know it,
How do we continue?
The tree defines us, but are without choice?
Are we without ability to shape our lives and be a branch a different shape? A different colour?
I see the expansive and varied past before me.
Each individual. Each with their own structures, their own colours, their own nutrients ready to be passed down through the trunk for generations to draw upon when needed.
Such vast collection of possibilities await our lives waiting to be drawn upon if need be.
It is in our genes.
Then again, what isn’t?
The great tree; the giver of life; the great record keeper.
Let gravity and time itself determine the future of our past.
Let the very roots give nutrients and the leaves give light as one into the next generation.
Edit: blog formatting.